


Dancing For Lughnasa

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Coronach [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Consenticles, Creatures, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation, Other, Tentacle Porn, Young Harry, consensual tentacle sex, don't be afraid to touch your meat, mmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14519121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Young Harry Hart is on his first solo mission.  It's hot and he can't sleep.  And for the first time since his induction into Kingsman, Harry's tentacled Knight-Spirit, Galahad, wants to talk.Harry at 25 has floofy hair, too much self-awareness, and uncertain social skills.  Galahad, on the other hand, is older than the Standing Stones.  This might not be a match made in heaven.





	Dancing For Lughnasa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



> Written for the Second Day of the Merry Month of Masturbation, for the prompt "Summer". Part 3 of the [Coronach](https://archiveofourown.org/series/877887) series. You don't have to read the earlier stories, but they will help make sense out of some of this madness.
> 
> Much talk, not all that much porn. I imagine that the Knight-Spirit Galahad probably sounds a lot like Anthony Hopkins.
> 
> Lughnasa is the ancient Celtic celebration of Midsummer and the start of the harvest season.

It's hot and the air is still and Harry can't sleep. In truth, it's been three nights since he's gotten more than a few hours rest. It's a bloody buggering heatwave that's blanketed the British Isles, and even in the partitioned Ulster, it's fucking brutal.

Harry picks up his watch and angles it so the moonlight illuminates the dial. Two minutes past midnight and it as hot as it had been at sunset. He gets up, takes a piss, and pulls out the pitcher of ice water he'd set in the ice box a few hours ago. Harry leans over the sink and empties the water over his head for some relief.

Except now he has to deal with the masses of sodden curls. He finger-combs the floppy mess out of his eyes and thinks, _I should shave it all off_.

_:: Please don't. ::_

_:: Galahad? ::_ Harry wonders what the creature inside him wants.

Galahad picks up that thought and corrects Harry. _:: Knight-spirit, if you please. I am not a **creature**. ::_

 _:: My apologies. ::_ Harry looks down at his torso and is surprised to see the lines and whorls of the creature's - _the knight-spirit's_ \- tentacles glowing in the moonlight. They really are rather pretty.

_:: Thank you. ::_

Harry's a bit worried. He's been a Kingsman for three months and this is the first time his "partner" has spoken to him. _:: Is everything all right?" ::_

_:: All is well. ::_

_:: Can I do anything for you? ::_ Harry hadn't freaked out when he'd learned just what being a Kingman truly meant, but he's still not quite accustomed to the idea that his body is hosting an ancient tentacle creature that's supposedly older than the standing stones on Salisbury Plain.

 _:: Not _supposedly_. I am older than the standing stones, older that the White Horse, older than you can possibly imagine. We all are, young Harry. ::_ Galahad is indigent and insulted. 

_:: Why are you talking to me? Why now?::_

_:: Is there any reason why I shouldn't? ::_

Harry shrugs, mentally and physically. _:: It's just that you've never spoken to me before, at least not since we were … bonded. I figured you didn't like me. ::_

Galahad laughs and the sensation rolls through Harry. _:: It's been a bit of an adjustment. You haven't exactly welcomed the idea of being my host. I've found that a little disconcerting. I can't remember ever having a host who had found me repellant. ::_

Harry knows that and he flushes with embarrassment. _:: Sorry. It's not you. It's just a rotten trick to play. We go through all of these tests. I even had to shoot my dog. And then someone drops a bag over my head, drugs me, and the next thing I know, I'm asked to bond with something that looks like it stepped out of a Lovecraft novel. ::_

 _:: Lovecraft? I don't know this. Is it about sex? ::_ There's something eager about Galahad, now.

 _:: No. It's about horror. ::_ Harry regrets that.

_:: Ah. ::_

Harry can feel Galahad retreat. _:: I'm sorry. ::_

_:: You regret me. ::_

_:: No, not at all. ::_

_:: You know you can't lie to me. I can feel your unease, your disgust. ::_

Harry scrubs his face and loses his temper. While Galahad isn't wrong, it isn't right, either. _:: I don't regret our partnership, but it's just fucking weird, all right? You don't talk to me, you don't guide me, and as far as I can tell, you kind of despise me. We'll be together until I die and the first thing you've said to me since our joining is 'don't cut your hair'. ::_

 _:: I was a bit more polite than that. ::_ Now Galahad is subdued.

Harry sighs. This conversation – like his first solo mission – is going nowhere. Kingsman's stuck him in an ancient cottage about five miles outside of town. He's supposed to be a writer working on his novel – hence the solitude - but he's also supposed to try to ingratiate himself with the local population. According to Arthur, this little town on the eastern border of Ulster is a hotbed of IRA and Provo activity. Harry's supposed to identify the leaders and make contact with them, posing as an anti-Royalist sympathizer, an English intellectual with Marxist leanings.

So far, he's seen nothing that would indicate anything to indicate that the IRA and the Provos are running the place. The town has two bars, two churches, one school, and a thriving dairy industry. Which means the whole town stinks of cow shit. 

The only good thing about his temporary home is that it's upwind from the farms.

 _:: I'm going outside. ::_ Harry doesn't bother putting on trousers over the boxers he'd been sleeping it. It's too hot and the cottage is the only human habitation for miles. He could dance naked under the moon with the foxes and the deer, if he wanted to. 

Galahad comments, _:: That's not a bad idea. ::_

_:: Excuse me? ::_

_:: It's Lughnasa – the midpoint between Beltane and Samhain. It's the start of the harvest season and a good dance will help bring in the crops. Of course, in the early times, Lughnasa would be celebrated with bonfires and games and feasts. But there is always dancing under the moon. ::_

Harry wishes he had thought to bring his pack of fags outside. It's really too hot to smoke, but he needs something to do with his hands.

_:: Harry… ::_

Harry sighs. _:: Yes, Galahad. ::_

_:: Dancing under the moon is a metaphor. ::_

_:: Huh? A metaphor for what? ::_

_:: You really do need everything explained to you. ::_ Galahad sounds like it's laughing at him. 

Harry blushes as he gets what the knight-spirit is saying. _:: You mean wanking? ::_

_:: Yes, my dear. Wanking. Rubbing the man-meat. Stroking the sausage. My last host liked to call is 'jazzing with the jizz'. ::_

_:: You have to be kidding me. ::_

_:: Not in the least. Mortimer had smooth palms and an endless supply of good quality lubricate. We were quite happy together for many years. ::_

Harry had met Mortimer Blythe - the previous Galahad - and had always thought the man to be the stodgiest stick in the mud. He'd been school chums with Harry's father and the pair of them would constantly prose on about the degradation of British morals, especially how terrible the homosexuals were.

 _:: That was all for show. Mortimer liked nothing better than taking it up the ass. Of course, he wasn't getting it from another man … ::_ Galahad goes quiet.

It doesn't take much for Harry to make the connection. _:: You're telling me that you used to fuck old Mortimer? ::_

_:: Regularly. The relationship between knight-spirit and host is very intimate. ::_

Harry's mind is whirling. This is the last thing he ever expected.

And he's intrigued. Harry's sexual relationships with women have been less than satisfying. But there had been that one time, with the captain of his school's rugby team … He's lived on those memories for way too long.

_:: I can do what ever you want, Harry. ::_

Maybe it's the heat and the still air. Maybe it's the moon and the cacophony of birds and insects going wild on a summer night. Or maybe Harry's just gone crazy, to even think that this would be a good idea.

 _:: Let's start slowly. ::_ Two long, thin tentacles separate from Harry's torso and tease at the elastic on his boxers before sliding into his fly. 

Harry has never gotten so hard so quickly. He pushes the boxers down, not caring that his naked bum is on the mossy old stone. He spits in his palm and takes a long, smooth stroke. The two tentacles tease his cods, just the way Harry likes.

Galahad murmurs happily, _:: A slow dance, my dear, to please the old gods. ::_

__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted my prompt list [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/4491uu2b42dznds/MMOM%20Prompt%20List%202018.docx?dl=0). If you see any prompts that spark your interest, please feel free to message me on Tumblr - you can find me here: [](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com)[](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com)**elrhiarhodan**


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